


The Broken Ring's Bright Star

by thalassius



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: A lot more characters - Freeform, Blood Magic, Female Harry Potter, Gen, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Horcruxes, How Do I Tag, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, No Beta, Potter Family, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Sane Voldemort (Harry Potter), Self-Fulfilling Prophecy, Wish Fulfillment, You Have Been Warned, haven't write in a while, not for long, starts a male though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:47:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22807333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thalassius/pseuds/thalassius
Summary: “My child, my love. Go and shed that skin, shed the image they ask of you. In the caves of gold seek help, and learn the truth they hid from you.”Those words kept showing in his dreams. Like a siren song, it beckoned him to obey. To do as his mother had asked. Such a strange request it was, but that only made him even more curious. Would it help? Would it answer the questions he had? Will it take away that itchy feeling of wrongness?{working summary}
Comments: 16
Kudos: 184





	1. Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> So, hi.  
> Disclairmers before anything else; while Harry starts as male this is not a trans!Harry story. Why? Because I would feel completly inadecuate trying to write such a complex character and risk offence to trans women. So, I would completly understand if after reading how I explain such change, you decide to go. I haven't placed a pairing because, I don't really know if my fifteen year old will be able to balance romance on top of everything else. However, I am open to suggestions.  
> I don't own Harry Potter, obviously. And I think that's all for now.

Dreams, never had he dreamt so vividly before. If one didn’t count the nightmares – the visions. Night after night he dreamt, or he remembered. Days, moments, all out of order; all of his fourth year at school. They all had one thing in common.

The itchy feeling of being… _wrong_.

He was sure he had a crush on Ravenclaw’s Seeker, Cho Chang. He felt… something, every time he saw her. She had a nice smile, and long hair. And she was a seeker, like him. She was pretty. She was his height – he was so short, the shortest of the boys, was it because he barely ate out of Hogwarts? Was it because he spent ten years under the stairs? – when most girls were an inch or so taller than him already. Maybe he wasn’t being fair, Hermione was tall, and so was Ginny. Parvati was his height too, maybe even shorter; so was Lavender. So, why… why her. Why Cho?

She was older, maybe that was it. He felt older than his fourteen years old. He understood why Professor Lupin looked in his middle forties, when he couldn’t be more than thirty-five. All he had lived, it took years from one, didn’t it? For the professor, it was his lycanthropy. For Harry, it was… everything. He couldn’t remember but, he had killed. Maybe he was already dying – Quirrel was – but that didn’t mean a thing when he had _burned him alive with his bare hands_. He had almost died, so many times – and not even since Hogwarts.

Oh, Magic. Without her what would have been of him so many times over the ten years he spent under the stairs. He had felt outraged when Neville mentioned how he was pushed out of a window, and by _luck_ , by _Magic_ , he bounced. Neville didn’t see wrong in that, did he? The same way he hadn’t see the big deal of a frying pan hitting the back of his head. Of cooking since he was seven, why, he even had a little stool to reach the stove. The same kind of stool parents usually place in the sink, so their child can reach the faucet, and wash their hands or teeth.

So, maybe she was older. But, she was still a child, wasn’t she? Worried about her OWLs, about her _boyfriend_ – who died, who died because of him. Because he was there, and he shouldn’t have been – about her friends, about Quidditch. And, and he had so many worries. He couldn’t care for the OWLs, could he? He could die before he reached sixteen. **_He_** was back. And, oh, how that memory liked to be in his dreams, in his nightmares. He woke sweating, hair plastered to his face, his neck. His throat sore from screaming, muffled by his pillow so he wouldn’t raise Vernon’s ire. Sometimes he couldn’t, and he got screamed at. What about? He didn’t know. He couldn’t care less when in his mind green flashed, again, and again. He just… took it. What else what he supposed to do? His friends weren’t writing, and if they did… He was tired. Of everything. Of everyone.

That feeling, itchy, all over him. He remembered, feeling like that before. He couldn’t remember when exactly, but… he had. Of wrongness. He thought, when Hagrid came, that it was his magic. He pushed it back, and ignored it, like he did so, so many things. How he flinched every time Ron side hugged him. How he kept food on his pockets, how he could walk in complete silence. The way he never got an E but plenty of A’s because Ron did. How he could talk to snakes. How he felt empathy for Argus Filch. All that and more, tucked in a little box, hidden in the back of his mind.

And now it was back, like the box had overflow. Everything was again there, in the front of his mind. Hitting him like a bludger. All, all of that. Mixing in with his memories of the Yule Ball, with the tasks, with the graveyard, with the absence of letters, with his grief, and his guilt, and his fear.

He was just fourteen. Never mind he would be turning fifteen in less than a month. Why did he have to live like this? Why his parents? Why him?

Everything began after the graveyard. After the shock wore off. And he could finally think. Oh, how awful were his thoughts. He knew logic was somehow lost to this magical world, but he used it anyway. The picture wasn’t pretty. It shattered something inside him, probably his innocence. The little he had left. To be treated like something, not like someone, by his headmaster. His mentor, his – could he even know to feel that way – grandfather figure, so wise, so thoughtful. And yet. He didn’t ask about him, oh no, all his questions were about **_Him_**. He couldn’t even blame Tom. After everything, he had shown a little bit more respect towards him than Dumbledore. It may have been a show, to humiliate him, to ask him for a duel instead of just killing him. He had proved he didn’t care the least; Cedric corpse was enough proof. He still gave him a chance to fight.

And it was, after the shock wore off, after he had recounted the graveyard – twice, to Crouch, to Dumbledore – that he remembered something else. Something his mother had told him. Something that kept showing in his dreams. Like a siren song, it beckoned him to obey. To do as his mother had asked. Such a strange request it was, but that only made him even more curious. Would it help? Would it answer the questions he had? Will it take away that itchy feeling of _wrongness_ , he now felt daily. Why he felt the need to _not_ cut his hair? Why he didn’t need to shave his upper lip anymore, those little hairs that looked ridiculous and his roommates had joked about. Little changes, so small, so insignificant in the big scope of **_He_** coming back to life, and his friends not writing. But changes that broke his routine. That looked at him every day in the mirror. His voice hadn’t broken once, since then. He didn’t realise this until he heard Dudley talk, his voice a little bit rough. He now sounded more like Vernon. His voice was like always. Dudley took it so well, teasing him mercilessly. Taunting him. It didn’t help he gave him even more ammunition when he screamed Cedric’s name in his nightmares. Dudley either didn’t care, or he didn’t understand. His nights were now so full of nightmares, and memories, that he hadn’t had that kind of dream at all. He didn’t have any morning issues either. He blamed the nightmares.

Still, his mother’s voice was there, urging him to do as she had asked. Just for him to hear. He hadn’t remembered because of that. Because it was spoken at the same time. Overlapped in his memories, for he could only think of those words he heard with his ears. Not the words that he heard with his mind. With his heart.

_“My child, my love. Go and shed that skin, shed the image they ask of you. In the caves of gold seek help, and learn the truth they hid from you.”_


	2. Caves of Gold

It wasn’t hard to deduce what she had meant by _caves of gold_ , but it had taken him time to build up the courage. To reach the point where those words were the only way he could seek answers. He tried to write his friends, to ask what was going on, while he pushed and pushed those questions into the box. But each night the box opened again. And again. Empty, meaningless letters were what he got. And so, he just woke up one July day, mind made. He took his wand, and his cloak. He had been going to the park, down Wisteria Street for a while now. So, they didn’t say a thing when after serving breakfast he just left. He wondered if they would notice if he never came back. Maybe when they wanted food, or when the laundry wasn’t done. Even then, he thought as he walked, they wouldn’t miss him. They would be happy, most likely. Wasn’t it that sad?

At the park he raised his wand and boarded the magenta monster known as the Knight Bus.

“Name?”, the same scruffy blond, Stan, asked him when he boarded.

“Jem.”, he muttered, not really looking up while he handed his fare. “The Leaky Cauldron, please.”

While Stan yelled at the conductor he grabbed the first pole he saw and held for dear life as the Bus squished itself through traffic reaching Charing Cross in lessthan five minutes. He waved back at Stan, again not really looking at him, and took his cloak out of his pocket. Crossing the muggle repellent ward, but not entering the pub just yet he covered himself, disappearing from view. Weirder stuff than the pub’s door opening on its own happened there, so he just walked in, trying to not bump on anyone. When he finally reached the backyard he decided to wait for someone to open the passage, lest it counted as magic to tap the brick himself. When it finally opened, it did from the other side, and he lost not a moment to enter Diagon before it closed again.

He had never been so early, and so the atmosphere was… different. It was still a mostly crowded street, but… the people were different somehow. He couldn’t pinpoint _why_ but something made Diagon Ally look different. Absence of children maybe, Hogwarts children that is. Walking towards the bank – for what else could have been those _caves of gold_ –when he remembered the warning at the door. Taking off the cloak seemed like a good idea, he didn’t want to be confused as someone who wanted in not being noticed so he could steal; instead of just…not being noticed.

He was starting to doubt himself as he walked towards one of the tellers – that he could choose, made him double take, he had never seen the bank so empty – and waited for them. Dark, small eyes looked at him through small glasses after some minutes had passed.

“Good morning, I…”, words failed him. How he could explain? Being in the open made him nervous, besides. He tried again. “I would like to … to ask for an appointment…”

Those dark eyes narrowed.

“An appointment, Mr…?”, Harry gave his name, whispering almost. He didn’t want it to echo in the – blessedly – empty foyer of the bank. “Mr. Potter, which kind of appointment?”

“I…a private… one?”, feeling a little bit stupid Harry left it there, waiting for some kind of answer. The goblin, his plaque read **_Dullnuk_** , kept his silence just watching him. Finally, he moved, reaching for something in his desk. Another goblin appeared, Harry found he kind of recognized him.

“Grephuk, take Mr. Potter to Spirhak office.”

Harry followed, thinking about how he probably misspelled Grephuk name in his mind, that first time he heard it. Probably trying to make sense of the name, making some kind of mesh of two English words; Griphook. But, it was a goblin name, why would it be written like English? He was trying to distract himself by thinking, about goblins names of all things, as he walked through poorly lit hallways – or were they to bright for goblins, he wondered – until they reached one door. The plaque read **_Spirhak_** and because he had been thinking of it as Spirehack, it cemented his idea that he had misspelled Grephuk name when he was eleven. That meant wizards misspelled goblin names all the time, and was it any surprise goblins were so nasty with them? Just picturing someone writing his name as Hairy, just because it sounded that way, made him feel angry.

His thoughts came to halt when the door closed behind him, and suddenly he was alone in the office with Spirhak, who just sat there waiting for him. Trying to discreetly wipe his sweaty hands Harry walked towards the chair placed in front of Spirhak desk and sat.

“Good morning, I… this, this will sound terribly weird but… my mother told me to come here.”

“Your mother, Mr. Potter?”, Spirhak didn’t have glasses, and his black eyes – they were completely black, now that he saw closely – bore into him. And Harry heard, even though it wasn’t said, the _she is dead, Mr. Potter_ , and winced.

“Ah, you see… during… during the last task of the Triwizard Tournament I, I was kidnaped I guess…the cup was a portkey, and…”, fighting the way his throat wanted to close, Harry took a few breaths. For some reason, Spirhak didn’t try to make him talk. He was grateful.

“And it took me, us, to a graveyard… and **_He_** ”, he hated how he was unable to said his name, his chosen name, how it brought the echo of pain, and terror, and guilt, “…used my blood to, to create a body. To resurrect. And we fought, and… our wands, they… connected.”

He was seeing it happen again, how the spells reached each other, perfectly. How they twisted and twisted. Red mixing with green, green trying to devour red. He still doesn’t know how, but he knew. He knew he had to push, _and push_ his magic, until the red swallowed green and gold broke out. It showered around them, caging them in gold. The phoenix song getting louder and louder. Beads of light wanted to reach his wand, but he kept pushing, even if he could barely see. Could barely stand – but, they were hovering, floating –. He kept pushing, the beads moved, moved and broke the moment they touched **_His_** pale wand. And forth came the ghosts. The spirits. Cedric. His mother. His father. And so many people, so many souls blasted from their bodies by the same wand.

“So, they connected, and somehow the… souls? Of my parents came forward and… my, my mother she… she spoke to me, but she also… she also said something in my head.”

Spirhak nodded, like it made total sense, and that gave him the strength to repeat his mother’s words.

“She said, she said to _shed that skin, shed the image they ask of you. In the caves of gold seek help, and learn the truth they hid from you…_ but, I don’t know exactly what she meant, except… that I should ask for your help, here.”

Harry wringed his hands together, and tried to keep his eyes on Spirhak, to show his sincerity.

“So, here I am. I need your help, to get the truth. Even if I don’t know which truth she referred to.” He took a breath. “I ask for your help, Spirhak. To shed my skin, and learn the truth.” He even tried to correctly pronounce the name he had heard, and hoped for the best. Spirhak hummed, and did something Harry never thought he would see a goblin do. He smiled.

“Mr. Potter, we will help you. For a price, you should know. However, we will decide on that after we discover the truth.” Spirhak spoke at the same time he wrote a note that disappeared the moment it was moved to a tray on the desk. “We will start with a blood test, and a health scan.”

There was a knock on the door, and Harry saw Grephuk enter again. A little bit confused, he looked from one to the other, waiting.

“Grephuk will guide you to Silnik, she will conduct this tests while I take care of the bank records we have of you, Mr. Potter.”

Well, it looked like he would be here longer than he thought. Although, he hadn’t really known what to expect to begin with. So, he nodded, thanked Spirhak, and followed Grephuk through the hallways again.


	3. Sulphur, Mercury, and Salt.

The next door he crossed didn’t have a plaque – well, it did, he just couldn’t read it – and soon he understood why. It may have been a goblin infirmary, but he had spent so much of his time at Hogwarts in Mrs. Pomfrey’s care that he could recognize the beds spread everywhere. It made sense, when he recalled they were going to do a health scan, and a blood test. What truths did his blood hide? And his health? He was apprehensive about it. Would they know, looking at his results, what his life had been like? Would they care?

“Mr. Potter.” A voice brought him out of his head, it was another goblin. She wore a grey robe, and her hair was almost silver. She looked him over, and then pointed to one of the beds. “Sit.”

Silnik, he assumed, turned around then and started to place several objects in a table parallel to the bed she had pointed. He did as she asked, waiting for the next instruction.

“Give me your left hand.” He did, and cursed out loud when she cut his annular finger without warning, squeezing blood into a little silver plate. Seven drops he counted. “Golnik, take this. Do a complete test. Look for everything. Do a tree too.”

Harry started, he hadn’t even noticed the smaller goblin, younger too, that had appeared beside him. She was wearing a grey robe too, her hair was a dark blonde, braided back. He guessed she was a nurse, were Silnik was a healer. Golnik took the plate carefully and went through a door by his right. Harry felt…like he was being shown more than normal wizards were about goblins. Somehow he hadn’t even considered that goblins could be females, but… why would he think that? Just because all they saw were male didn’t mean a thing. He wondered if they never left the bank.

“Mr. Potter, take off your clothes. Glasses too.”

“What?, Harry looked at her, but she didn’t say anything else. She was just waiting for him. “Er…I, all of them?” She nodded and, thankfully for him, handed him a short white robe. It was sleeveless, with no sewing he could see or feel. It reached the top of his knees when he finally changed behind some curtains. He thought he may feel cold, that with being underground. However, it seemed the goblins kept everything at the same temperature. Somehow.

“Lay down. Don’t speak.”

He walked towards the bed, barefoot, clad in only the thin robe. He felt…exposed. But, at least he got to be somehow dressed. He got into the bed and lay down as told. The ceiling was natural. In the sense that he could see – not very sharply – stalactites of different sizes hanging over him. It was a scary view, more so without his glasses, so he closed his eyes. He still was aware of Silnik, moving around him. He felt her paint over him, his arms and legs. She also placed what he guessed were gems over him. Maybe they were just rocks. The she chanted. It was a guttural sound, it was harsh, but melodic at the same time. Harry wondered if it was Goblin Tongue. He lost sense of time, listening to Silnik. So when she suddenly stopped he opened his eyes. Colours swam around him, some kind of sandy colour covered him, light blue cracks all over it. Golden chased green in a dizzy fashion. And parallel with his head, a little speck of coal was surrounded by crimson.

“Stay still, I am not done yet.” Silnik spoke, and Harry tried to limit his movements to blinking. She was looking at the colours, taking notes in a piece of parchment. Harry wondered what they meant. Silnik made no other comment as she wrote, her face betraying nothing. Finally, she placed down the quill, and snapped her fingers. The colours disappeared at the sound. She moved towards him and started to move the gems – ambers, maybe – to a stone slab, placing a parchment above them. She let that be, and started to remove the symbols painted in his arms and legs. Once done, she allowed him to sit. It was in that moment that Golnik came back, carrying several parchments with her. 

“These are the results, and the tree Imm Silnik.”

“Take the tree to Spirhak.” Silnik took the results at began to read them, nodding at several points. Finally, she combined the parchments before handing them over to Harry. He took them, nervous, these where answers. Even if he didn’t have the questions yet. Bracing himself, he started to read.

**_Sulphur_ **

  * **_Alchemy Transmutation of Salt [sand] – 83%_**
  * **_Natural Magical Core [aquamarine]_**
  * **_Basilisk Venom [viridian] – location; bloodstream. 0,0002%_**
  * **_Phoenix Tears [gold] – location; bloodstream. 0,0002%_**
  * **_Sacrificial Blood Magic [crimson] – 17%_**
  * **_Unknown Mercurial Piece [coal] – location; frontal bone._**



_‘So, that’s what the colours I saw mean…’_ Harry thought, and kept reading with a foreboding feeling about Alchemy Transmutation.

**_Salt_ **

  * **_1 meter 66 centimetres 73 millimetres_**
  * **_48 kilograms_**
  * **_14 years 6 months 2 weeks 6 days – natural salt ♀_**
  * **_14 years 6 months 2 weeks 5 days – alchemy transmutation of salt ♂_**



“…what?!” He couldn’t believe what he – she? – was reading. “…Imm Silnik, what…it is an, alchemy transmutation of salt?”

“It is an alchemical transmutation of the body.” She answered without even looking at him – her? – while organizing the table she had been using.

“So…, my… my body, is… not my body?” Silnik growled and that made Harry startle.

“Of course it is yours. It is not your first, or natural, body; but is still yours.” She looked at him for a couple of seconds before continuing. “It has degraded, the basilisk venom and the phoenix tears strain it with their battle. Even more now that your blood was used to make another body.”

Harry tried to breathe normally while his thoughts bounced without direction. These answers had created even more questions; though, they did explain some. He still hadn’t heard what Spirhak had for him; this… this could wait.

The rest of the data was familiar enough he didn’t really paid attention to what he was reading. Some fractures that hadn’t heal correctly were fixed by the SkeleGrow he had to drink during his second year; his body weight was a little bit under normal, a little bit anaemic, and he was, of course, myopic.

Leaving the parchments in the bed, Harry got up to change into his clothes again. When he got out of the curtains Grephuk was waiting for him. He followed him back to Spirhak office, clutching his results in his left hand. He sat once again and tried to prepare for whatever information Spirhak had found. Thoughts kept his mind in chaos; his eyes glanced down at the parchment. Was that what his mother meant?

“Mr. Potter.”

“Miss.” He – she – corrected him without even thinking. Harry opened his – her – eyes in surprise. Blinking a few times, she tried to organize her thoughts. His mother…she, she hadn’t called him _my son,_ but _my child_. And… “It’s Miss Potter.”

Spirhak just nodded, and Harry fought to keep her mouth shut. Was it… was it that easy?

“Miss Potter, there are two vaults under your name at this moment. The Potter Vault, and your personal vault, a Trust Vault. You were bequeathed several others, however. The Upton Vault, number 965; the Jones Vault, number 897; the Bramwell Vault, number 992; the Ronan Vault, number 672; and the personal vault of Eileen Shaw, number 1042.”

Harry was confused. “I thought, the only vault I owned was…my trust vault.” She remembered Hagrid cautioning her from overspending that first time in Diagon; and then… Mrs. Weasley did her shopping, and she was used to being so.

“You did. Until the thirty first of October, nineteen ninety-four. Our records show a magical emancipation, granted by contract with the Ministry through the Goblet of Fire. And, ratified by Hogwarts Headmaster the twenty-six of November, same year.”

“That means, I am… considered an adult?” Spirhak nodded, a smirk on his face. “Does the Ministry knows?”

“If they check their records, yes.” The smirk got bigger, and Harry understood. It was an automatic process. One they didn’t expect; one they wouldn’t check. They probably believed she was still a minor, so they wouldn’t check. Like she just did. She couldn’t help the smile on her face. One thought erased it.

“But, their records would be about Harry James Potter, and…”, and what? It was his name, right? Except…he had decided, hadn’t he? That, that … that **_she_ **would shed the skin, the image. She wouldn’t be The **Boy** Who Lived anymore, would she? “…those vaults, why they were bequeathed to me?”

“Well”, Spirhak hadn’t lost his smirk, and that made her relax. “It was a magical emancipation; your name is a non-issue. In fact, as an adult you can make decisions about yourself. Like, for example, soliciting a magical cleanse from Imm Silnik. And a magical change of name, from Gringotts Records.”

The smile was back on her lips as she considered every single thing she could do now that she was an adult. A bubbly feeling creeped through her throat. She could leave the Dursley’s. She needn’t to come back.

“And, those vaults were bequeathed to you, Miss Potter, because they were related to you.” He gives her a rather thick parchment. Inside there is a tree, a family tree. Her fingers trace her parents’ names with care. **_James Leander Potter_** and **_Lily Maeve Potter nee Evans_**. There are several names above her father; but it is the names above her mother’s that call her attention. Tears well in her eyes as she traces the name. Does she know, Harry wonders. Oh, the irony. A chuckle escapes her. She doubts it, but that only means she can tell her. And, maybe…

She returns her focus to her father’s side of the tree. There, she can see the Upton family, or, at least, the ones related to her. Through her great aunt, Hope Camille Potter. It ends in nineteen seventy-eight, with her grandchild, Graham Upton. Tears fall when she sees the Jones. They come through Howard Emile Potter, her great uncle. He had three children, his eldest, Carol, married Everett Jones. Everett Jr. doesn’t show a spouse, but he had a daughter. Two years younger than her parents. Avril Caroline Jones died in nineteen eighty. Her dad followed her nine years later. Carol’s brother, Charlus married Dorea Narcissa Black – that brings a small smile, she is related to Sirius, somehow – and they had a son, Gabriel Reid Potter. His spouse is Eileen Shaw. The other two vaults, the Bramwell, and the Ronan are from another branch entirely. She follows her own through her father, James; her grandfather Fleamont; her great grandfather, Henry – Hope’s brother –, her great grandfather’s father, Charles, and then Charles’ father, Roland James Potter. Once she is there, she has to follow Roland’s brother, Eric Holt Potter. His granddaughters are Emma Dawn Bramwell nee Potter, and Evelyn Berenice Ronan nee Potter. Emma’s daughters, Madison and Winifred, died five year ago. She could have met them. Everett, Madison, Winifred, maybe even Gabriel and Eileen. But she didn’t know, and no one told her.

There are names she recognizes from school in her tree. Her grandmother, Euphemia, was a Nott. It doesn’t show more so she has no idea of how she is related to them. There is also a Bones, an Abbott, and funnily enough, an Ollivander.

“Can I keep this?” She asks, her fingers hovering over one name in particular. Spirhak nods, and waits for her to gather her thoughts patiently. “Spirhak, could I transfer the contents of the vaults Upton, Jones, Bramwell, Ronan, and Shaw to the Potter Vault?”

“Yes.”

“And I could pay Gringotts by returning the ownership of the vaults to the bank?” She looks at him, not even sure if that is something done. She is just thinking that, she doesn’t really need that many vaults. If she empties them, then why would she keep empty vaults? Spirhak’s eyes widen a fraction.

“Yes, Miss Potter.” He pauses. “It is actually, a rather courteous gesture to do so. It hasn’t been done… in a while.”

“Then… I would like to ask for it to be done.” She rolls the parchment up with care, mind made up. It won’t be easy. But she had had worse, hadn’t she? “And, also, a magical cleanse ritual. And, after that… to, to change my name, magically, with the Gringotts Records.”

Spirhak keeps his silence for a couple of moments, before he starts to write several notes. He places them on the tray, and off they go. “There are still some details to discuss, Miss Potter. There is a property we were given custody of when we were asked to ward it the tenth of June of nineteen forty. The Fleamont Châteaux in Folkestone, Kent.” He hands her a parchment, and then continues to work. She is… she doesn’t have words. She, she owns a house? A Châteaux? And, if what she is reading is correct, a pair of house elves as well. Ruby and Jet. She thinks of Hermione, but she dismisses the thought. Hermione has been…cryptic, is the closest she can think, in her letters. She and Ron had kept mum about the magical world, and refuse to answer her questions. Its’s frustrating. That reminds her to buy a Daily Prophet on the way back. She needs to pick her trunk after all.

There is a knock on the door, and there is Grephuk again. “Imm Silnik is ready for you.” She thinks his jobs is a mixture of guide and messenger.

“Can I leave this with you, Spirhak?” She shows him the scan results, the tree, and the property deed. Spirhak smirks, and nods.

“Of course, Miss Potter.”

She smiles, rises and follows Grephuk once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! And, if you want to see the family tree I made for this fic. I can upload it to my tumblr and share the link here, just let me know.


	4. Shedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, even though nobody actually asked:  
> Potter's Family Tree: https://tsunallux.tumblr.com/post/611032763571765248/httpsarchiveofourownorgworks22807333

Once again she changes into the light white robe and lays down one of the beds. The difference is that this time Silnik gives her a potion, to sleep. As she drifts into unconsciousness she remembers Silnik words.

_“This will remove all foreign magic. Not only the Alchemy Transmutation. The venom, tears, the sacrificial magic, and that…mercurial piece. Do you still wish to proceed?”_

She had answered by taking the potion. There was no use in that blood protection anymore, not after the graveyard. And, really, she hadn’t even known she still had basilisk venom and Fawkes’ tears running in her bloodstream. Whatever that mercurial piece was, it also didn’t matter, it would be gone in the end. Finally, the darkness takes her away.

The first thing she notices is that, while she still need glasses, she does sees better than before. The next thing is… an absence of weight between her legs. That, that was expected. It will take a while to get used to… going to the bathroom. There is a new weight in her chest, but that one she was somehow prepared for. She doesn’t want to look, but she has to sit. So, she closes her eyes, breathes and sits. Counting backwards from ten she regulates her breathings, and opens her eyes.

Well, her legs are still hairy, nothing new there. Her feet are different, though. More… feminine. Obviously. Her hips are… rounder, and now she has a waist. And… breasts. Beyond that… she is going to need a mirror. There is one, where her clothes, glasses and wand are.

“…you can do this. You chose this.” She mutters to herself, and then remembers she is not alone. Except… she is. Silnik isn’t there, nor is Golnik. Were…were they giving her, privacy? Feeling grateful for the gesture she stands, and walks towards the mirror. She needs to get close, but, as she already noticed, not as much as before.

Her hair is still a mess of dark curls that can’t be bothered to be curls, even now when they almost reach her shoulders. Maybe if she keeps growing her hair… Her scar I still there, but now it looks healed. It is just a shade or so lighter than the rest of her skin. She smirks, because now, unless you’re looking for it, you can’t really see it.

Eyes, still green, though the shape has changed a bit. Same with her eyebrows, they are… curvier. Her nose is different enough she can’t really focus on it. It changes her face just so that she, she doesn’t look like an exact copy of her father with her mother’s eyes. The shape of her face is slimmer, more delicate. It makes it easier to refer of herself as female. Oh, she doesn’t kid herself, it will be hard. She will slip if she isn’t thinking about it. But, she chose this. She can do it.

“Now…clothes.” A grimace twists her face as she turns around to change, her eyes closed. “And glasses, you need to buy yourself new clothes and glasses. Joy.” The jeans are a bit loose, but they don’t fall of her hips. Wearing briefs is… an experience, now that she doesn’t has a…yeah. Thankfully, they are still comfortable enough, so maybe she won’t need to buy feminine underwear. She will definitely need to buy brassieres though. There is… an uncomfortable feeling about having a shirt and, just a shirt. Weird.

While she ties her shoes – they a little bit big now – she realises another thing. The itch, the _wrong_ feeling… it’s, it’s gone. Her throat closes, and she wants to cry. Has it… has it always been this? The box in the back of her head is now filled with different thoughts, thoughts she can’t have right now because they _hurt_. Because Alchemy isn’t that known. Because she only knows one person with alchemy knowledge, and… she can’t. She can’t think about it, yet.

“Miss Potter, if you’re ready, Spirhak awaits.” Grephuk speaks from the door, bringing her out of her own head. She nods, and follows. She doesn’t think she could find Spirhak office on her own, even if this is the second trip she does from the infirmary to his office. Also, while Grephuk shape is more defined, it is still a blurry mass of colours. It would be terrible to try, and use her old glasses. She doesn’t want the headache, thank you. She is even appreciating the low light of the hallways right now.

Back in Spirhak’s office she takes back her parchments, cradling them with care on her lap. Spirhak places a parchment before her. The only writing she recognizes is her name.

“Just write your chosen name, Miss Potter.” He hands her a dark red feathered quill. “It will sting, as this writes with your blood.”

She takes it, and thinks back to the name she chose. She still can’t believe the coincidence. And, can’t help but think, her mother would have chosen it too. But that’s just her first name, her second… her second took a little more thought. She would really want to check first, but even if she is wrong, the phonetic game still works. One last breath, and she writes.

**_Holly Gemma Potter_ **

Holly grins through the sting at the back of her hand. Holly, like her grandmother Evans. Gemma, because gem sounds like Jem, one of the many nicknames James has. It’s a way to keep it, her father’s name. And, she is almost sure it is the name of a star. Then, it would also be a way to honour Sirius.

She gives the quill back, and rubs her hand a little. Meanwhile, Spirhak signs too, and sends the parchment to the records.

“Congratulations, Miss Potter. With that, we are done. Unless you need something more?” Holly can’t help the smile it comes to her face.

“I would like to go to my vault, I believe there is some shopping I need done.” She motions to herself with her right hand, once she is standing. Her left is occupied with her parchments. A bag is added to the mental shopping list.

A slightly dizzy Holly walks out of Gringotts to a busier Diagon Alley. Either she didn’t remember how bloody fast those carts went, or now she has a weaker stomach. It also could be both. Well, first things first. Glasses.

Is… is there an optometrist in Diagon Alley? She really hopes there is. Looking around won’t do, and so, she walks towards the closest stall.

“Excuse me, ma’am…”, the owner of the stall is a plump witch, and she seems to be selling fruits. Her greying hair is braided and in fall over one of her shoulders. Holly can’t really see, but she is pretty sure the witch is smiling at her.

“Yes, dear? Do you want something? I have some very juicy plumbs for three sickles a pound.”

Holly can’t help the blush on her cheeks. “Oh, no, I’m… I am so sorry, I just wanted to ask if… if you know somewhere in the alley where I could get glasses? Mine just broke this morning and…”

“Oh, sweet child, don’t apologize! Poor dear, can you see at all?” The witch walks around her stall, and stands before Holly. They are of a height, give or take a few inches, and now that she is closer Holly can see her face better.

“Ah, yes. Some… you are kind of blurry, ma’am, less now… but, still.” She doesn’t have words for the situation she just got herself into. “So… is there? A shop?”

The witch blinks. “Oh, goodness! Yes, yes, of course. Two doors down Ollivander’s. There is a sign, hideous pair of glasses, you can’t miss it. It will be a big, hideous, blurry pair of glasses for you, love.” She smiles again, walking back behind her stall.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Holly gives her a smile and starts walking towards Ollivander’s. She looks left, and then right.

“She wasn’t kidding… they are hideous.” Whispering to herself she walks towards the sign – a winged, puke yellow, and full of rhinestones pair of glasses –, drifting among the crowd. Specs & Tacles turns out to be the name of the shop. “…seriously?” She is really hoping the sign is just to call attention.

Inside the shop is quiet, there are glasses in the walls…and the ceiling. A few mirrors, different sizes and forms, can be found amongst them. At the back of the shop there is a till and a door. A tall wizard is sitting there, reading. She walks towards him and tries to catch his eyes. A few moments later she can’t help but sigh. Talking first it is.

“Good morning, sir.” He looks up, and Holly fights to keep her mouth shut. It would be so, so rude. But, he has surprised her. His eyes are different. His left is a really light blue, while his right eye is a dark green, not unlike hers.

“Good morning, miss. In which way can I help you?” His voice is kind of raspy, and grave. At the same time, is gentle. She can feel herself relaxing a little.

“I am in need a new pair of glasses... but, I am not sure of my prescription…”, she bits her lip, thinking that maybe she would need a healer first.

“In that case, if you would follow me.” The wizard walks a few steps, opens the door, and… oh, there is an exam room there. She follows inside, and after he signal her, takes seat in the only chair there.

“Here, put these on please.” He hands her a pair of glasses. They are very like her own, round and metallic. She puts them on, and there is a slight difference on how… blurry the world is. “Now, I will begin to cast and I will need you to tell me if you can read those letters over there.”

He points towards the end of the room, where a sheet of parchment is tacked in the wall. She takes the glasses off for a moment, and, yes. She can read the first three lines, and… probably guess the fourth. Before, she was guessing the second line. She puts them on again, nods and waits for him to begin.

“Tell me, is this better?” The glasses change, or at least, she guesses they do because she is definitely seeing the letters differently. “Or, like this?” They change again.

“Uh… the first.” Holly answers after thinking about it. He keeps doing the same, charming the glasses until she can read the very last line, and everything is in perfect focus. He does another charm and a couple of numbers and symbols appear in the air. He takes out a small pad and notes them down.

“Well, now you just have to choose a pair. I will charm the prescription then.” She gives the glasses back, and walks out of the room. She is thinking of buying two pairs, just in case. Even with _Oculus Reparo_ being a life saver, it would be smart to have a spare. Holly tries on different shapes but can’t help but choose a pair of round glasses. They aren’t black, but gold. For the spare pair she takes a bronze pair. She takes them to the till, where the wizard – oh, lord, she didn’t even ask for his name! – spells her prescription into them. She doesn’t wait another second before putting them on.

“Oh… thank you, so, so much.” Holly is completely and absolutely sure she has never seen better.

“You are welcome, miss. Although, I am just doing my job.” He gives her a crooked smile. “That would be two galleons and fourteen sickles. The anti-reflex and anti-scratch charm are included. You can add a permanent water repellent charm, an anti-condensation charm, and or, an anti-glare charm.”

“Anti-glare?”

“For the sun.”

“Huh…” They would be pretty useful, especially in Quidditch. And day life, of course. “So, how much would it be if I want all of those?”

“The total would be up to three galleons fourteen sickles and twenty-seven knuts.”

“That’s for both, right?” He nods. She gives her the glasses back, for him to spell. Once she takes them back she starts to count the money to pay. “Uh, do you have, cases?” She thinks after a moment. Her left hand is still busy holding into her parchments, and if she is going to slip her spare pair in a pocket, the least she can do is keep them in a case.

She swears he is laughing at her when he simply takes one from behind him and slips the spare pair inside, he even shrinks it for her, for Merlin’s sake! Holly just _knows_ she is blushing.

“That would be another sickle.” She hands it over, and pockets her spare glasses.

“Thanks, again. Ah… Mr…?” Oh, she is so, so glad she isn’t pale in this moment. Her cheeks are warming even more.

“Glass. Alfred Glass.” He is definitely laughing at her, but he gave Holly her sight back.

“Thank you, Mr. Glass.” She repeats herself, but, she is truly, absolutely grateful. “Have a good day!”

After visiting Madam Malkin to have her measures taken – and buy herself a robe; just one to use right this moment, and finally free her left hand, Holly takes her time looking around the Alley. At one of the stalls she buys herself some lunch. Then she buys treats for Hedwig, checks the trunk shop – she is going to either buy a new one or bring her old one to engrave again, is just one letter after all –, browse a bit in Flourish & Blotts – she ends up buying a little book titled _Every Witch Charms & Potions. _She is so going to need it. After that she realises she is just trying to prolong the inevitable.

Number Four, Privet Drive.


	5. Tea and Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't apologise, really... the world went tits up, and... well. Whatever. Also, this chapter fought me with tooth and nails. But now it's here! I can't say if this will mean my updates will be... ah, more timely? I'm updating from my phone btw, if the formatting looks, wrong or something well... I don't have internet and my home, so until I can get out to a cafe or something, I will have to deal.. 
> 
> So, anyway, go read(?)

The journey back in the Knight Bus was awfully fast, so she decided to take her time walking back from the park. She was already hearing her aunt’s shrilly voice calling her names, and blaming her parents for every single thing that was wrong in this world. 

“You are an adult, a fourteen-year-old adult, but… an adult. You can defend yourself. You have money, you have a house…you can do this… Holly.” Muttering to herself Holly took the last steps to the front door. Breathe in, breathe out. Keys, unlock, walk. Straight up to the bedroom. Everything goes inside the trunk. Hedwig isn’t back yet, and she is a smart one. If she doesn’t see her cage, she won’t try to get inside. Trunk full and locked. 

“Wingardium Leviosa.” Float it downstairs. Quietly. Done. “I really, really don’t want to do this…”, Holly looks up, and wonders. She doesn’t have to tell them, right? There is no need to have a conversation with her aunt, is it? They won’t miss him, the freak. She lets out a soft huff, now he would be even more of a freak, magical and a girl instead of the boy they know. She should just really walk out and be done with it, shouldn’t she? And because Fate truly hates her, an owl comes through the kitchen. 

“Boy! What have we told you about this… this freakish nonsense!” And, there is here aunt screaming, and somehow she hasn’t even looked at her yet. Not really. The robe she is wearing covers her new shape pretty well, and her hair is the same length. Really, she just needs to actually look at her to notice the difference. The owl drops the letter; and it doesn’t even reach the floor before it starts talking. Dread pools in her stomach. And relief floods her when the letter is addressed to Mr. Harry J. Potter. Magic, muggles, minor, expulsion? While she was having lunch in the Alley she took her time reading the Daily Prophet’s slandering of her and the Headmaster. Are they really going to take that route? One that is, pathetically desperate, Holly thinks. She is terribly amused now. Then Petunia finally looks at her, and ruins it. Holly decides to tune her out, she isn’t saying anything of worth. And, even if she was, Holly stopped caring about what her aunt thought a long time ago. 

Expulsion, huh? Well, they could try and expel Harry. Still, that they had resort to actually do so… They were truly trying to silence her. And the Headmaster too. The Ministry truly wanted to believe Vol…Tom, was dead. Or, the minister more like. She couldn’t help but grimace at the memory of Minister Cornelius Fudge – Petunia took it as acknowledgment and upped her rant a notch, sadly – how had someone like him end as Minister? 

“Get out! Freak! I won’t put with this anymore! Leave my home!” Holly turned to look at her at that, slow smile coming up her lips. 

“With pleasure.” Seeing as her house was still under the Trace, or something, she took her trunk with her hand. Opening the door one handed wasn’t really that hard, she was out in the porch in less than a minute. Sadly, it was Petunia who had the pleasure of slamming the door shut. It was short of a miracle they hadn’t attract the neighbours’ attention with all the noise. Small mercies, Holly thought. 

As she walked down the porch she noticed a… a witch. There was no other explanation for the clothes. And, as she hadn’t heard the characteristic sound of apparition, it meant she had been there all this time. This… this didn’t look well. She wasn’t ready, not at all. But down the road she walked, up to the witch, her trunk in hand.

“Ah, Mr. Potter.” And of course she knew who she was. “You… were supposed to stay with your aunt… though, if what I heard is correct…” The witch tried to keep her grimace in check, failing absolutely. At that moment a – was that a Patronus? – misty lynx arrived, and it bloody spoke. 

“Something happened at the Ministry, Dumbledore is fixing it. How is Potter?”, it was a male voice, and it was coming out of the Patronus. How? Oh, now Holly wanted to know how to do that with Prongs so, so badly. The witch looked at her, probably wanting her to answer. Holly shrugged.

“They said I am expelled from Hogwarts.” How did Dumbledore planned to fix that when the Minister was so focused on her? 

“…why are you so calmed about it?” Holly couldn’t help the smirk. 

“Oh, just something interesting I discovered today. It makes this situation rather hilarious.” Holly tilted her head. “I still don’t know your name… or why you are outside the house.” 

The witch blushed in embarrassment. “Oh, that… Well, I am Hestia Jones. And… I can’t tell you… yet.” She seemed to come to a conclusion as she took out her wand. At Holly’s surprise she explained. “I cast a disillusionment charm, also a silencing one when I saw you open the door.” She bit her lip before speaking again. “You should… move a little bit, like…” Holly raised a brow but did as told moving back until Hestia nodded. After that she casted her patronus – she tried to keep her face neutral, but really, it was a donkey – and let it go, most likely with a message to whoever the lynx belonged to. 

Holly walked back towards her. “We really shouldn’t stay outside, and… would you trust me, to apparate us?” 

Holly bit her lip, thinking. She had been there in the street all this time, probably watching her. She had contact with someone who knew Dumbledore. Probably she had contact with the man himself. Whoever they were they were trying to help her. At least, it looked like it. And… it was probably a long shot, but the wizarding world tended to be really small, and she was a Jones. Steeling herself, she nodded. Hestia offered her arm, and not even a moment after she grabbed it they were gone. 

It was the worst sensation ever. Worse than portkeys and floo combined. Why were magicians so adamant on creating uncomfortable travelling methods? She may love flying, but brooms? Also uncomfortable. The only thing brooms had in their favour was that she was able to control all the twisting around. 

“It takes a while to get used to side-along… doing it by yourself is better.” Hestia tries to reassure her. It doesn’t actually work, but Holly still appreciates the gesture.

They are at a cottage’s front yard. While looking like an average cottage, Holly can’t help but think of the Burrow. It gives off that… magical aura, she guesses. Seems like Hestia decided to trust Holly with her home. Once inside the silence becomes terribly uncomfortable. 

“…You do look a lot more like Lily in person.” Holly’s eyes widen at the sudden words and Hestia blushes when she realises what she just said. Clearing her throat Hestia gestures towards the kitchen where Holly just follows because, what else can she do? She leaves her trunk just outside the door to the kitchen before entering. 

“I was a prefect, so was your mother… we…weren’t friends exactly, but…doing patrols with someone for three years puts you above acquaintances, I guess.” With a few gestures of her wand a pot of tea starts brewing. Holly tries to keep her eyes on Hestia, she truly does, but… this kitchen is so different, yet the same as the Burrows’s, that she can’t help it. There aren’t pots washing themselves, and the kitchen is rather tidy but there’s still proof of it being a magical kitchen. Where you would find the stove there’s actually four of the flame thingy they use in Potion’s class. There is no refrigerator or oven in sight, but there are more cupboards than in a muggle kitchen. Hestia gestures towards the table in the middle, and waits for Holly before taking a seat herself. 

“People usually talk more about my dad…” Hestia nods ant her words, and pass her a cup. “Thanks.” Holly tries to collect her thoughts while she doctors her tea. “…can, can you tell me… about her?” 

“Like I said, we weren’t friends but… yeah, sure.” She takes a sip of her own tea. “Let’s see… she was really, and I mean really, gifted at Charms. I think she never got anything less than Outstanding’s, or at least, it seemed like that. Flitwick loved her, truly. She was almost an honorary Ravenclaw. Potions too, though… she didn’t take the NEWT’s level.” 

“Why?” So far, that is the first piece of information that is new to Holly.

“It is complicated… and not my story to tell, I am sorry.” Hestia does look sorry, and her cheeks are blushed, so Holly bites down her words. “She didn’t take Transfiguration either, she was rather bad at it actually.” The older witch looks like she is trying not to laugh suddenly. 

“Really?” This surprises Holly, Professor McGonagall always talks very highly of Lily Potter, though, she was also her Head of House.

“Really. She did well in her OWL’s but dropped it in sixth year like a hot potato. I think she also wanted to avoid James and Sirius, honestly.” She winces at that, glancing down at her cup, thinking over her words. “Those two…well, let’s just say they took their time growing up. The jury is still out with Sirius, if we are being honest.” She huffs at that, shaking her head. “You boys do take your time growing up.” 

Holly tries to hide her wince. She doesn’t understand why it felt so… wrong to be called a boy just now. Hell, she hasn’t been a girl for more than a few hours! Even if she was born female, she lived her whole life as a male… And yet… 

“Yeah…so… wasn’t my dad a prefect too?” Holly thinks she remembers something about her parents being Head boy and Head girl in their seventh year.

“Oh, Morgana, no!” The horrified look on Hestia’s face makes Holly smile a bit. “No, the title went to Remus. I think McGonagall was expecting him to rein in Sirius and James…in hindsight it is obvious why he didn’t. Back then we just thought it was because he was the least of the four evils.” 

“You are talking about the pranks, right?” Holly looks at her empty cup, thinking about the Marauders’ Map, the stories she has heard, when they were just four friends. Her hands grip the cup tighter. Before Hestia can try and speak Holly changes her question. “How did he end up Head boy, then?” 

Hestia looks at her for a moment, before filling her cup. “He was Quidditch Captain. He had also shown some maturity during sixth year, sometimes the title of Head boy isn’t given to someone who is already responsible but… more like, with potential. James had that. The added responsibility made him better during seventh year. It was that year when Lily finally agreed to a date. I remember because it was the biggest gossip back then.” 

“Why was that?” She appreciates the refill. It gives her something to do with her hands, and also something else to focus besides listening to Hestia. 

“Well… your father was rather… insistent.” Holly catches the grimace Hestia was trying to conceal. “All Hogwarts knew that he wanted to date your mother, Lily… she wasn’t that keen on dating him, however. Not, until he grew up in seventh year. There were bets lost and won that year.” 

“I… see.” It isn’t really what she was expecting, by the photos she has thanks to Hagrid, they looked… happy, in love. Holly has never truly tried and do the math, but if they started dating in seventh year… they had been together for less than three years when they… died. Some of the words she truly tried to not listen from her aunt come to the forefront of her mind. 

“They married barely out of Hogwarts, didn’t they? Because of the war…” Hestia looks a bit awkward, like she is trying to look for words to bring back her parents to that shining pedestal everyone tries to put them. The perfect couple. She finally let’s out a sigh, and nods. She seems to gather herself for something when there’s a flush sound coming from the living room. Holly tenses, and so does Hestia for a second, before… something, crosses across her face and she seems to relax. It is in that moment that Remus appears in the kitchen, and the moment Holly realises that she is in trouble.

“Hestia… who is this?” His voice is deceptively calm, but Holly can see his posture, ready to cast. She is so attentive of him, that she notices the moment he moves his head, just so… his nose twitching. His brow wrinkles, confused. 

“…Remus? That’s Harry… right?” The woman looks at her, and she knows Hestia trust her, because of the scene she witnessed, but now she’s looking at her more carefully. Holly feels trapped, but… as she thinks quickly, maybe this is best… She looks at both of them. Considering if she can trust them with the complete information. With… with her doubts. She still is an adult now, she has a house… she has somewhere to run if it comes to that… 

“Professor Lupin… it’s been a while. Maybe I should reintroduce myself.” She looks at him straight on. “My name is Holly Gemma Potter, daughter of Lily Maeve Potter, and James Leander Potter.”


End file.
